


Dead Ends.

by wanderingcastle



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingcastle/pseuds/wanderingcastle
Summary: Kira is gone, and all Mello wants is to move on with his life. But the discovery of an old, long-thought-dead friend suggests that not quite everything has been resolved just yet...What might have happened if neither Mello nor L had died?





	Dead Ends.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish to give my dearest, most sincere thanks to [lucksthegame](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4226577/), [TheVideoGamer](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4158334/), and [Akyris](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4604328/), for their wonderful beta-work - and to the lovely [peevishpants](http://peevishpants.tumblr.com), for her beautiful cover illustration.

\-------

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158788422@N07/42184873190/in/dateposted-public/)

**"Dead Ends."** by wanderingcastle

\-------

He can’t think of anyone who would want to visit him, let alone anyone who knows he is here. He prepares to tell whoever waits on the other side that they have the wrong apartment. As he presses the buzzer button and hears the voice on the other side speak, however, he realises he’d forgotten that there is one person who does know.

He had not actually expected her to come to him outright. Especially not after what had happened five days ago, and with her having followed him a few times since. But then he recalls she hadn’t been following him at all today - and if she had, he hadn’t noticed. Still, that doesn’t explain why she’s here now. 

Mello reaches for the other button, but hesitates. He stares at his wrist as it hangs in the air. After a moment, he presses the button. 

When he hears the knock on the other side of the door, he opens the door half as far as the security chain will allow. 

“Mello.” Halle Lidner stares at him. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

Mello stares at Lidner’s shoulder. “It isn’t on… I didn’t think anyone would call.” In fact, he hasn’t so much as charged his phone since the battery died five days ago. Mello feels his brow furrow, though he isn’t really upset. He just doesn’t want to talk. But he is obliged to ask, now that she is here: “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

The door creaks as Mello closes it a fraction. “Whatever it is, you can tell me here.” His voice is still cold, though he doesn’t truly mean for it to be. He wonders whether she’s come here on her own volition, or if…

Reaching out a hand, she pushes at the door, keeping it open, even if only ajar. “Actually, I can’t. I think it’s better if I talk to you inside, or at least somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

Mello frowns. “…So, whatever it is, I take it Near sent you.”

“Tonight, yes,” Lidner says. “But I wanted to talked to you anyway, except like I said, I couldn’t reach you on your phone.”

“What does Near want? I take it everything went exactly as he’d planned.”

“It wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for you.” Lidner’s words are conciliatory, and Mello almost feels guilty for having spoken so coldly to her. “You know that,” she says. “But I can’t tell you anything else until you let me in.”

She sounds determined enough that Mello - despite himself, despite that he doesn’t want to talk, despite that he doesn’t want anything to do with Near anymore - lowers his shoulders and unhooks the security chain with a sigh. “Yeah. All right.” He opens the door all the way. “Come in.”

Lidner comes inside and waits with Mello as he locks up the door again. Then, because he has to, as they come into the apartment proper he asks her, “Do you want a drink or something?” He pulls out a chair at the dining table, and in heading to the kitchenette, notices that she doesn’t sit down.

“No, I should be fine. Besides, I can’t stay long.” Her hands touch the back of the chair. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but pauses instead, the dirty ashtray on the table seeming to have caught her attention. Mello isn’t about to explain that it isn’t his, nor why it is here, nor why he hasn’t emptied it. He just waits, and hopes she’ll say what it is she has to say, so she can leave and let him be. “Mello. I’m going to get straight to the point. Near wants you to meet him, tonight.”

Mello stares at her.

After what feels like a very long while, he says, “If you honestly think I’m going to go, I’m sorry to say you’re completely mistaken.”

“I know you don’t want to see him, but - ”

“And if that’s all you had to say to me, you shouldn’t have come.”

“I told you,” she answers, stiffening. “I tried calling you.”

Mello scowls. “Yeah, so you could tell me the exact same thing, except not in person.” 

“I don’t just mean today,” she says, “and not just about this. I’ve tried to talk to you a number of times since you…”

“And I guess it was your idea to follow me nearly every day since I escaped the van, as well,” he says. His voice stings with sarcasm. He turns away, his hand gripping the edge of the countertop. 

“That _was_ Near’s idea,” Lidner admits, “but I didn’t mind doing it. In fact, I was glad he’d asked me to keep an eye on you. Mello, I was worried about you.”

He has no reason to believe her, and so doesn’t. “You mean you were worried I’d interfere with Near’s plan.”

“Mello.” She frowns. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure? Take a look at why you’re here. I think you’ll find that it is exactly ‘like that’.” 

Lidner stares at him. “I was worried about you,” she repeats. “Near told me that a friend of yours, the one who’d showed up in the car before you rode off with Takada... Near told me that he died.”

Mello doesn’t have it in him to correct that Matt wasn’t just his friend. His eyes don’t part from the floor.

Lidner continues, “He died, and you didn’t, though you’d all but told me you thought _you_ would.” She shakes her head. “When I found out, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how that would feel. I still can’t. That’s why when Near asked me to watch after you, I was relieved. I wondered if you’d do something reckless or put yourself in danger, and I wanted to be there in case you did, so I could stop you.”

Swallowing, Mello gives a silent sigh. “…I appreciate it,” he says, “but I wouldn't do that. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone right now. I don’t want to speak to anyone.”

“From what you’ve been doing over the past few days, I can tell. But, Mello, this is different. Near needs to see you. And you need to see him.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to know why Near wants to see me. Not that I want to know. Because I don’t. And I’m not going. You of all people should have known that before you came here. You’re just wasting your time.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I knew you wouldn’t agree, and so did Near. None of us thought you would. Part of the reason I’m here is because Near asked me to take you there myself, knowing you’d never go on your own.”

Mello raises an eyebrow. 

“Mello,” she adds, “you have no idea how important it is that you go tonight.”

For a moment, Mello considers this. He’s said he has no interest in finding out why Near wants to see him, but at the same time he honestly cannot remember Near having ever asked to see him. That is, having ever needed to see him. It is unusual. It is unusual enough to leave Mello now finding himself not completely uninterested. 

“I know you might not understand right now, and I don’t expect you to,” Lidner adds, her soft voice rippling through the silence, “but it _is_ important, Mello. Near needs you to see him.”

After a pause, Mello hears himself say, “Where?”

“The hospital.”

That is not the answer Mello had expected. At once his curiosity builds inside him, rising, rising, until it forms as a lump in his throat. He swallows. “…And it has to be tonight?”

Lidner steps back from the chair. “Yes. Near’s already there, and he wants you to join him as soon as possible. Trust me, if you knew more about it, you’d want to be there straightaway.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me what it is now?”

Shaking her head, Lidner smiles wistfully. “It’s definitely not my news to deliver. And besides, right now, Near knows more about it than I do. You should hear it from him.”

With a sigh, Mello shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re so certain about that, but I guarantee this will just be a huge waste of time.”

Lidner ignores what he’s said, seeming to pay more attention to the fact that he is slowly moving towards her, and therefore towards the door. “So you’ll come?” 

Mello smirks. “You act as if I have a choice. But we both know you won’t leave until I do.”

\-------

During the drive to the hospital, which is about fifteen minutes or so, Lidner recounts the events of the previous day to Mello. How they’d met Light Yagami at the Yellow Box Warehouse. How Teru Mikami had appeared shortly thereafter and tried to kill them all, excluding Light. How this had exposed Light as Kira. And so on the list goes. She mentions that Near had acknowledged how, without Mello’s contribution (unpredicted as it was), the plan would not have worked. Assuming she isn’t making up that part - and Mello is mostly sure she isn’t - Mello doesn’t know how to feel about that. He keeps silent. Lidner doesn’t stop talking. The words palliate - but he has to remind himself that he won’t know closure until after he has met with Near and learned whatever it is Near has to tell him.

Only then can he scrunch up and throw away this whole business. Only then will he be done. Done with Near, with Kira, with all of it. This thought gives him a little hope, a reason not to lag behind Lidner as she leads him into the hospital - a reason to follow close behind her. Mello wants this to end in as little time as possible. He wants this to end.

Once inside, Lidner tells him, “Near’s asked me to get you a visitor’s pass before we do anything else.” She turns towards the information desk.

The name of the patient she asks to see is not one Mello has before heard, so he assumes it is an alias. As the clerk readies the pass, Mello leans against the counter. He wonders whose alias it could be. His first thought is that Near is the one hospitalised. But wouldn’t Lidner have told him so, if that is the case? 

Mello slips the lanyard of the pass around his neck and lifts out his hair. He follows after Lidner, to the stairwell, to the second floor. 

Maybe, Mello thinks, Near has borrowed one of the empty patient rooms in order to use it as a private meeting point. That _would_ explain why Near has asked to meet him in the hospital to begin with, but - it doesn’t strike Mello as something Near would do. There is something strange about this. 

Once they step onto the second floor landing, he decides just to ask. “Lidner,” he says, causing her to pause and turn back to him, “be honest with me. Why am I meeting Near here?”

Lidner blinks. “We’re not far now. Keep an eye out for Room 17.”

“Don’t ignore me,” Mello says, and steps in front of her. “Tell me. Why here?”

“He’ll explain everything. Just be patient.”

Deciding not to stall, Mello shuts up and just follows her after that. Within moments they are standing outside the seventeenth room, within feet of the irritatingly familiar face in white pyjamas, sitting on the chair outside the room and wrapping his hair around his finger.

For some reason though, even Mello has to admit that there is a trace of disquiet in Near’s face. For some reason. Mello knows the answer to everything lies behind the door in front of which they stand. Or, in Near’s case, sits.

“I brought him,” Lidner says, standing aside.

Near looks up. “Yes, so I see. Good work.” Near’s voice is as impassive as usual. “Gevanni and Rester have already left for the night. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he says to Lidner. “It’s already late. You must be tired. We worked hard today.”

Lidner nods. “You’ll explain everything to him?” She gestures at Mello with a nod.

“Of course,” Near says. His stare shifts to Mello.

“All right.” She herself turns to Mello and adds, “I’ll see you.” Giving a smile and a curt nod, she leaves. Only when Mello can no longer hear her heels echoing down the hallway, does he turn back to Near.

“Mello,” Near finally acknowledges.

Mello looks down at him and hesitates before forcing out his name in response. “Near.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Near waves at the empty chairs beside him.

Noticing that the chairs aren’t attached to the wall, Mello drags the chair two places down from Near over to the other side of the corridor. He positions it across from Near and sits down.

He isn't about to waste pleasantries on Near that he doesn’t care to give regardless. “Let’s just get this over with,” he says. “What do you have to tell me?”

“How have you been?” Near asks.

Mello fights off the instinct to glare back, in part because he isn’t sure he’s imagined the sincerity in the question or not. “You don’t have to ask me that,” he says. “I know you’ve had Lidner following me all week. Don’t think I’d believe for a moment that she hasn’t told you what I’ve been doing.”

“I know,” Near says, and his stare tilts off to the side. He continues curling the strands of hair around his finger. “That’s why I asked.”

Mello pretends to ignore that, still unsure what to make of it. “Lidner told me about you yesterday. Everything went just as you thought it would. It’s all over now, isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

“Not quite.”

“With Kira, I mean.”

“Yes. And like I said, not quite.”

Mello blinks. “Then I take it that’s why I’m here.” Mello glances at the door to Room 17, as though it has started casting a shadow over him from where it waits unopened.

“Well, partially,” Near concedes. He looks down the hallway and doesn’t say anything for a little while. Above them, the lights hum. Mello thinks he can hear someone sobbing from behind the door of a room further down the corridor. “You know what,” Near says, stepping out of his chair, “we should go outside.”

The door lingers in Mello’s line of vision a little while longer, but then Mello decides to follow Near. They don’t say anything to each other until Near has led him through sliding doors into the visitors’ garden outside. 

Near sits down on a wooden bench peeling with yellow paint. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Mello leans against the low fence bordering the garden. “So,” he tries again, now that they are less likely to be overheard. “What is it you have to tell me?” The aching night wind pulls his hair across his face. Through the strands, he stares at Near, and waits. 

Near starts curling his hair again and does not meet Mello’s eyes. “As Lidner would have told you, Teru Mikami died yesterday at around 2 p.m. Just before he did, Light Yagami, also known as Kira, escaped. However, as he’d been shot, we found him dead in the surrounding area not too long afterwards. Much later, an anonymous tip informed us that Misa Amane, Light Yagami’s fiancée and most likely the Second Kira, had committed suicide.”

Mello crosses his arms. “Yeah, Lidner already told me. Get to the point.”

“My point is,” Near continues, “that after yesterday, all those who were or had once been Kira died. But before we could declare the case completely closed, we had to make sure that there were no more loose ends. Or, in other words, that there were no remaining traces or scraps of the Death Note lying around anywhere. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you why. Anyway, yesterday, I contacted the Japanese Task Force, and together, we - the Task Force, the SPK, and myself - scoured all the buildings that had been used during the Kira investigation since 2006.”

Mello’s eyes widen. “2006?”

“Yes. Luckily, there weren’t that many. In particular, we focused our search on the building L had constructed as the headquarters for the Japanese Task Force in 2007. Of course, it had since been sold off to realtors, so we pulled a few strings and had the building evacuated while we conducted our search.”

“There’s no way you’d have gotten through the whole building in just one day,” Mello points out.

“Well, of course not,” Near says, “but that’s beside the point. However long we expected to spend searching the building, we had to stop around 5 p.m..”

Mello narrows his eyes. “…So you actually found something?” For all that he is listening to Near, a part of him hasn’t stopped thinking about the door in front of which he’d found Near waiting. He feels that if he stops listening to Near, he might hear his pulse in his throat.

“Yes, we did. But I should clarify that what we found wasn’t in the building, but rather, below the building. You see, it seems L had constructed a network of solitary confinement cells underground, which one can only access via a command hidden in the elevator interface. It is obvious that nobody living in the building had known about them, let alone about the hidden command that would have taken them there.”

The pieces click together in Mello’s head. “…You found someone beneath the building, didn't you.”

Near takes in a quick breath through his nose. “Yes.”

Mello has a feeling he might be better off not knowing. But better off or not, he wants to know. “Who?”

Holding the leg he has folded up against his chest, Near’s other hand stills. “That person is L.”

 

“ _What_?” The door slams open in Mello’s mind. “No, that’s impossible. It can’t be.” 

Near has started curling his hair a little faster than before, and despite that Mello is staring straight at him, Near stares at the flattened grass. “Just before 5 p.m., Gevanni and I stumbled across the network of cells beneath the building. There were eleven cells in total, though from what we could tell, none had ever been used except for the second-last one.”

“And L was there? _L_? Inside? You’re sure it’s him?”

“Yes. I think it’s safe to say that Kira had been keeping him there all this time.”

“…But L died - I mean, Roger told us L died…” Mello’s breath interrupts itself and he nearly chokes. “You mean to tell me Kira had kept him there for _six years_?” 

“Like I said, so it seems.”

Suddenly Mello remembers where they are, and he sickens. “…So he’s the one here. He’s the one in Room 17. He’s- “

“I only had him admitted here as a precaution,” Near explains. His voice is so clinical that Mello almost wants to step forward and wring his neck until some emotion comes out. “To tell you the truth, we did not find him in any kind of alarming state. For the most part, both he and his clothes were clean.”

“…So you mean to say that… he was being looked after?” Mello corrects himself, “...That Kira was looking after him?” The words very nearly sting his mouth and lips, burn the back of his throat. But, as though he himself cannot understand what the words mean, he finds himself saying them again. “Near. _Kira_ was - I don't want to hear this.” And then Mello starts towards the sliding doors. The lights from inside the hospital fall onto his face as bright shadows. Near doesn’t follow him.

Mello finds the visitors’ bathroom and pushes open the door. As he clutches the sink, he thinks about how usually when people feel sick, they go outside for fresh air. But Near is outside, and - it is not so much that Mello doesn’t want Near to see him like this, but more that seeing Near will remind Mello of why he is here, why he is here and who is in the seventeenth room, and why they have been put there. Of everything collocating violently in his head, the thought that Lidner had been wrong earlier makes the most sense and upsets him the least. He focuses on it. He can understand why she’d thought he would be glad to hear that L is alive. He knows he would have been, if the circumstances surrounding had been very, very different. 

_L_ is alive. L _is alive_. L is alive, and L is… _here_ , above Mello’s head, maybe lying but most likely sitting - he used to sit in that way, didn’t he - in a hospital bed which had been Near’s idea and is the stupidest idea Mello has ever heard because truly what is a hospital but a prison with slightly better lighting? 

Mello stares at his reflection in the empty sink. Though he doesn’t doubt that he may actually be paling, the porcelain whitens his face and distorts his features, swirling them around the basin and into the drain. He runs the tap and tilts up his chin. In the bathroom mirror, he sees that his skin is more yellow than pallid. He is only half-aware of the fact that he hasn’t yet eaten dinner, let alone lunch, and he’s never been the kind of person who can stomach breakfast, but the fact that he doesn’t feel hungry at all keeps those thoughts suppressed. Besides, his mind is still busy trying and failing not to think about everything else.

Though nothing has come out, he wipes his mouth. Moments later, he leaves the bathroom and stands in the hallway. He stands there for a long time before moving to sit down in one of the chairs. Just as he has no intention of speaking to nor seeing Near, he has no intention of leaving yet, either.

\-------

Mello doesn’t know how long he has been sleeping, but keeps closed his eyes as he wakes, taking a few moments to tap into lucidity. When he opens them, he is met with bright clinical light. Then he remembers he is in a hospital, and when he realises that much, so too resurface the rest of the details. He sits up and blinks. Not too far from where he sits, a child whispers loudly, “Look, she woke up.” Mello stares at the child, not really caring about her error, and is sorry to see her recede behind her mother. She probably hadn’t been able to see the scar on his face until now.

Once he has the strength to stand and stretch his legs, he does exactly that. Mello doesn’t know whether Near is still here or not - and isn’t particularly interested in finding out, for once Near is not at the forefront of his thoughts - but assuming he is, he likely isn’t outside. When swallowing does nothing to make Mello’s mouth less dry, he fills a plastic cup with water, half-empties it, and throws away the rest as he heads towards the doors dividing the hospital and the garden. Seeing the sun, Mello realises he’s spent the entire night asleep in the hospital chair. Well, he thinks, there are worse places to wake up. As for whether he would have preferred to wake up in his apartment, however, he cannot say.

Mello wanders around the garden with his hands in his pockets, glad to see that it is at least empty. The only noise he can hear is the hum of the city. He has become quite familiar with this noise in the past few days. It is not entirely comforting. But Mello is too busy making more sense of other thoughts to pay the noise any attention.

Sleeping, he feels, has dulled the shocks of yesterday, but he has not come to terms with what he was told. He isn’t like Near. But Near wouldn’t even have to come to terms with it, Mello thinks. To Near, it is a piece of evidence, something to be noted and analysed and turned over in the palm of his hand until it fits with all the other pieces. Mello is different. Mello will take much, much longer to come to terms with it - if at all.

Nevertheless, sleeping really has cleared his head, and he starts thinking about what Near told him. So, L is…

Mello’s vision blurs and he stops walking. He steadies himself. He is fine. He will be. He blinks, takes in a few slow breaths, and continues tying up his thoughts.

L is alive. L has been alive for the past six years. And Kira must have been the only one who’d known. So Kira must have been responsible for L’s imprisonment. Mello recalls Near saying that they had found L clean and apparently tended to, and of all things, this strikes Mello as the strangest. If Kira really was the only one who knew L hadn’t died, and was responsible for L’s imprisonment, then Kira must have been looking after him. 

The only conclusion Mello can draw is that Kira had been both tending to L, and keeping him confined so as to mess with his mind. And though the L that Mello remembers is strong and likely could resist any psychological torture… he cannot deny that six years is a long time. But the thought resolves Mello. He has to visit L. 

Mello sucks in a breath and heads back through the sliding doors.

It seems Near has stayed the night as well, because he is already outside L’s room. As Mello sits down opposite him, Near looks up. 

“The doctors are examining him now,” Near says. “They’ll report to us once they’re done.”

Mello is chilled. “Will he be allowed visitors today?”

“We can go in as soon as they’re ready.”

Mello has no intention of going in with Near, nor with anyone else at all, but he doesn’t say anything. About an hour passes, and nothing happens. And then the door opens. 

Out comes a short doctor, holding a clipboard to her chest. Seeing Near, she gives a cordial smile. “You’re the one who requested Mr. Ryuga’s checkup, right?” she says. 

“Yes,” Near says, and turns in his chair to face her. “Well, how is he?” It seems he notices Mello staring out of the corner of his eye, because gesturing to Mello he adds, “He’s here for Mr. Ryuga, too, so you can tell him as well.”

The doctor nods. “So,” she begins, briefly scanning her clipboard, “overall? Mr. Ryuga’s condition is just about perfect.”

Mello lets out the breath he has been holding. And then he pauses. “’Just about’?”

“Well, there aren’t really any causes for concern, is what I mean. We ran a few blood tests, the results showed that aside from a slight lack of vitamin D and iron, he’s otherwise healthy.” She then tilts her head to the side. “Well, as healthy as you can be while technically malnourished. The high levels of sugar in his blood aren’t high enough to indicate diabetes, but it is evident that Mr. Ryuga enjoys a diet rich in refined carbs. Flour, sugar, you know, all that.”

“That’s not unusual,” Near says. 

“Sounds to me like he’s been eating this way a while now,” the doctor adds, checking her clipboard again. “Our tests showed that for all he is clinically malnourished and slightly underweight, he doesn’t seem to be suffering any relevant health problems. Based on what you said, I’d say it’s highly likely his body has just adapted to his diet. Whatever that diet is - though I have some idea - I should let you know we’re feeding him the same meals as all the other patients in this ward.”

“Has he been eating?” Near asks.

“He ate his dinner, yes. Well, everything except the fish. And his breakfast…” She looks at the clock on the wall. “His breakfast should be served to him in five minutes or so.”

Near starts twirling around a curl of hair. “Is that all?”

The doctor nods. “You’re more than welcome to go in now. Just keep in mind that someone will be wheeling in his breakfast shortly.”

Near thanks her, and she leaves. Then Near glances at Mello, as though expecting him to stand. 

Mello doesn’t stand. “You can go in first,” he says to Near.

Near waits a moment before answering, “All right,” and climbs out of his chair. As Near opens the door, Mello averts his eyes. 

Once the door has closed, Mello stands up and paces down the hallway after the doctor. “Wait,” he calls. And then, when he is close behind her, “Wait,” prompting her to turn on her heel. 

Her eyebrows are raised above the rims of her glasses. “Oh, it’s you,” she says. “Is something the matter…?”

“Yeah - I mean,” Mello says. “About - Mr. Ryuga. Have you given him a psych evaluation?”

The doctor frowns. “No, just a physical one. Why? Would you like us to?”

Mello nods, but his eyes narrow. “You should have done one anyway.”

The doctor bristles. “If you’re that worried about it, then sure, we can send in a psychiatrist to run an assessment. With Mr. Ryuga’s consent, of course.”

“Do it.” Mello watches as she scribbles out a note onto her clipboard. 

Returning to wait outside L’s room, he passes a few nurses pushing trays of food. Though his stomach rumbles at the warm aroma of - what is it, porridge? - he has no appetite. 

He sits down outside L’s room and does not move until almost forty minutes later. Forty minutes later, Near steps out, and then Mello takes a few breaths, holds the last one, and steps inside.

\-------

When Mello looks away from the door he’s closed behind him, he faces black hair and two even blacker eyes.

L.

It is L. Near wasn’t wrong. It cannot be anyone else. It _is L_. Nearly exactly as Mello remembers him, but he is wearing blue pyjamas instead of regular clothes. But he’s sitting the way that he used to sit, the way that had intrigued Mello when he had been so much younger, and the bags under his eyes haven’t left him. They’re still there, L is here, _it is L_. Mello breathes out. He inhales and then manages to say, “…It’s actually you.”

L’s head tilts slightly, but towards the window. A pang of self-consciousness attacks Mello. Mello hardly feels his shaking fingers rise to touch his scar. Every other part of him focuses, is focusing, on the sound of L’s voice saying, “Yes.” 

That’s all L says and L has only said it once, but it echoes in Mello’s head. Yes, yes, yes. It is me.

Mello can’t stop shaking. “You’re-” It would not have taken much persuasion to make Mello believe that the figure of L crouching in the armchair beside the window is a ghost and - not alive and living. But _it is L_ , and Mello doesn’t do anything but stand and breathe so he doesn’t start panicking. Once he can feel the rest of his body again, he steps, warily, towards the chair opposite L. And sits down. And stares at L. L is pale enough that Mello thinks he can reach out and put a hand straight through him as if he doesn’t exist and isn’t there and Mello then recalls that L has always been this pale, hasn’t he? 

It is L, just as Mello has always remembered him. It has been six years, a very long six years and no doubt longer for L than for Mello, but Mello stares at L sitting opposite him, and those thousands of days drip steadily away. Nothing about it doesn’t feel strange. L is here and perched in his chair. L is here.

And Mello finds he can only stare for so long before he must drop his head into his hands. He lets out a very heavy, nearly vocal breath.

“…Are you all right?” 

Mello looks up and blinks and it takes his mind a moment to accept again the sound of L’s voice, and more than that, the fact that it is L who has spoken, L who is here and alive and living. Mello tries to speak and all that comes out is, “But you’re _dead_.”

And yet L is _alive_ , _L_ is alive, L is alive, L is alive and here and L _is_ , not was. The scene seems too real to be a dream - and yet like a dream, Mello can’t make sense of it. 

As if Mello’s thoughts have spoken aloud, L replied, “You are not dreaming. I am here.”

Mello’s hands tighten over his knees. “But we all thought you’d died. This doesn’t make any sense. How are you-”

“I’m sorry.”

Mello blinks hard. “No, there’s- Don’t apologise. You’re here. It’s over. Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. You’re alive.”

L stares at him. “Still… I can tell this comes as a great shock to you. Are you all right?”

Mello straightens. “…I’ll be fine.” Shouldn’t he be asking L that? But he cannot find anything more to ask, though thousands of letters are forming into hundreds of words forming into dozens of questions in his head. Yet none want to come out of his mouth. Mello swallows, and just sits there. There. Here. Opposite L.

And for all that Mello isn’t talking, every senses everything, and he can smell warm, wet cardboard again after first catching it in the hallway outside, and then he breathes out, “You must be starving.”

L smiles at that, but it doesn’t meet his eyes and hardly exists in his lips. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be,” L says. “It’s not as though I haven’t been eating. …Although,” L’s head turns to the tray of food craned over his bed, “I can’t say I’ve completely enjoyed what they’re feeding me. …Mello, I don’t suppose you have any chocolate?”

L remembers. Mello is suddenly aware of the pocket on the inside of his jacket, and of the fact that it is empty. Mello shakes his head. “I don’t.” He is sorry to say it.

“No matter. The doctors have told me I won’t be in here for much longer, so perhaps I’ll get myself some cake as soon as I’m released.”

Hearing L actually say a sentence in full is what brings Mello’s mind back together. Mello blinks, trying to focus his vision. Finally accepting that L is here, he starts thinking about _why_ L is here - and of all the questions he wants to ask, all he says is, “What were you eating when Kira kept you in the cell?” It has been six years. If L had been starved, surely the doctors would have told them.

But at the mention of Kira’s name, L’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly - almost. “Light ensured that I always had access to food.” Mello’s stomach begins to tighten. He has picked up on a tone in L’s voice that he doesn’t want to but can only describe as defensive. “Nothing I didn’t enjoy,” L continues. “Castella, shortcake, jelly… I always had access to clean water, as well. You and Near need not worry. I have never not been fine.”

Mello has almost frozen, save for the thudding in his chest. “You were kept in a cell for six years,” he bites out. “That’s what Near said.”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to returning to work. I’ve missed solving cases very much.” L’s gaze wanders above Mello’s shoulder, and it takes Mello a moment to realise that L is watching the television behind him. Mello has not heard its sound until now, but even now he does not listen to it. 

“How long do you think it’ll take them to work it out?” 

Mello starts. “What?”

The television screen reflects as two white squares in L’s eyes. “That Light was caught and killed.” Near must have told him - but Mello isn’t paying as much attention to that as he is to L’s very wrong choice of words. “How long do you think it will be until they realise?”

Mello doesn’t like the look in those eyes and turns to the television instead. The journalists on-screen are sitting around a table with coffee and cookies and are discussing Kira.

This is not something L should be watching. Mello says as much, and reaches for the television remote on the table between him and L. 

And L darts forward and seizes his wrist. “Don’t change it.” Mello stares down at L’s cold hand. And then looks back up at L. “Leave it.”

Mello withdraws his hand.

“I haven’t been able to watch the news for a long time,” L says. Mello’s mouth feels dry, because he knows L is lying.

So Mello says, “But it’s obvious Near already told you what happened. You know we’re done with Kira. That’s why you’re here now, and not still in his possession. …You don’t need to watch this.”

L stares past Mello’s shoulder. “Near did tell me,” he says. “Everything, as far as I can tell. I don’t believe he would have spared a single detail.” Neither does Mello. “Clearly, a lot has happened in the past six years, and especially in the past few days.”

Mello agrees, but for a very different reason. 

The television, the remote, and L’s cold hand continue to flash in Mello’s mind, echoing with L’s voice, quiet and then defensive and then finally, jarringly, urging. Urging Mello not to change the channel, so he can continue watching the discussion about Kira.

Or, as L has been referring to him, _Light_.

Six years, Mello thinks, is a long time. A long, long time. Six years is a long, long time in which a lot can happen. Has happened. Has changed.

And Mello is all but certain he knows what has changed. He had suspected it even before entering the room.

Mello stares at L, whose attention has since fallen back to the television. 

And Mello just sits there, sits there and watches L watching the television, and wonders if the psychiatrist will draw the same conclusion Mello thinks he himself is drawing. 

As if having heard his thoughts, it is at that very moment the door opens and who looks to be the psychiatrist steps inside the room. Mello has no choice but to leave, and so does.

\-------

Distracted with what has just happened - with what he has just realised now reeling through his head, unconfirmed though it may be - it takes Mello a moment to register that Near is still in the hallway outside. Once Mello notices, he starts wondering what had happened when Near had gone in to see L. If Near had picked up on the same little things Mello has. After all, Near had gone in first, and had been the one to recount to L all that L had missed whilst away. How would L have reacted to it? Or _not_ reacted, Mello thinks, remembering the cool detachment he’d faced on the other side of the door.

“How did it go?” Near asks. 

“Near,” Mello begins, tense, “I have to ask you something.” But not here, of course, and Mello is about to suggest that they find a more private setting, when without warning, the door that he had been leaning against swings back. Mello stumbles to his feet and turns to face the psychiatrist. 

She is not an inspiring sight. “There’s no way you’re already done,” Mello says.

Speaking as if she’d said this many times before, the psychiatrist informs them she hadn’t even been able to start. L had apparently decided not to consent to a psychiatric examination. That is, he had said that he didn’t need to be examined. Mello cannot believe that was all it took to cancel the evaluation, but the psychiatrist replies that if the patient doesn’t consent to the exam, they do not have to sit the exam. It is as simple as that.

“I see,” says Near, speaking up as if a part of the conversation. “Well, thank you for your time.”

Mello lets go of the psychiatrist’s arm and, after the psychiatrist straightens her shirt and disappears, he turns to glare at Near. 

“There’s no need to get so angry, Mello,” Near says. “Assuming it was you who sent the psychiatrist in the first place, you should have expected that L wouldn’t want to disclose his personal information to any member of the public.”

Mello clenches his teeth. “That’s not it,” he says. “Don’t you think it’s obvious there’s another reason why L doesn’t want to talk? I have a theory. But I can’t tell you what it is until we can get somewhere more private.” …But at the same time, going somewhere else means leaving L in the room on his own. That L would only have the television to keep him company for the time being is not in any way relieving.

…And besides, it is too soon for Mello to go back in, now that he’s come out and returned to the less horrifying side of the world. 

It seems Near has been thinking along the same lines. “We’re not going anywhere,” he says. “As long as you keep your voice low, I think you should be able to tell me here without being overheard.”

Mello cedes with a sigh and sits down in the empty seat beside Near. 

The moment Mello has finished explaining his thoughts, Near starts speaking. “You think he’s developed some kind of attachment to Kira,” Near summarises. He reaches up a finger to twirl around a thick strand of hair. 

“Near,” Mello says, “you were in there for a while. Didn’t you notice something was weird?”

“Well, as you said, L didn’t seem to want to talk very much. But that might have been because he was listening to me.”

“And what exactly did you tell him?”

“As much as I could without skewing off on a tangent. Although I spent most of the time recounting the events of January twenty-eighth. That is, the day we apprehended Kira.”

 _Killed_ is the word L had used. Mello narrows his eyes. “So he knows what happened in the lead up to Kira’s death?”

“Yes. I made it clear that we were forced to shoot Light Yagami because he had a piece of the notebook on him.”

“And he didn’t say anything to that?”

“No. But, like I said, I was the one doing all the talking.”

“And he just listened, like you were reading out a shopping list?”

“Yes.”

“Then that all but proves it,” Mello says. “Anyone else would have at least been relieved to hear that their enemy was caught. But…”

“Mello,” Near says, and his voice is stern, “you’re jumping to baseless conclusions.”

“No, I’m not,” Mello hisses. “It’s obvious that there’s something wrong with him, Near.”

“Possibly. But whatever it is, we won’t be able to determine it right now.”

Mello folds his arms. “…Well, obviously. But how can we, when neither you nor him seem interested in having him properly examined?”

Near stares at him. “Whatever further help L requires, he’s not going to get here,” he points out. “For starters, we had him admitted under a false name. Second of all, considering that the public still seems faithful to Kira, no-one here would take L seriously even if he did reveal his entire situation to them - though, as you and I both know, he’s not going to do that.”

Lips tight, Mello frowns. “Then what should we do?”

“I think it’s likely they’ll be releasing L sometime today,” Near explains. “Keeping his situation for the past six years in mind, however, we can’t leave him alone.”

“I… agree, but it’s not just that. He doesn’t actually have anywhere to go. …I’m pretty sure he wants to get back to solving cases as ‘L’ again, but there’s no way he’s in the right frame of mind for that now.” 

“Of course not,” Near says. “Besides, unlike L, Wammy actually died, and Roger would never agree to taking his position if he knew where L has really been over the past six years.” And then Near pauses, and his lips curve up into a small smile.

“What is it?” Mello asks, though he has some inkling of where Near is going with this…

“The best thing to do in this situation,” Near says, “would be to have L go to Wammy’s House. I’m sure if I explain the situation to Roger, it wouldn’t be difficult to arrange.”

Mello considers this. “…He’ll have access to the doctors there. The psychiatrists, as well.” 

“Yes. Any attention he needs, he’ll be able to get there. Also,” Near adds, “Wammy’s House might be one of the only places Kira hasn’t influenced, which makes it the most appropriate place for L to go right now.”

“…But you’re not just going to send him there on his own, are you?” Mello points out. He all but knows Near won’t go, as Near has since ascended to L’s title - if Near takes L to England, then the title would be left unattended.

“No. I think you should go with him. While he’s recuperating, I’ll continue assuming his role, so I won’t be able to take him.” 

“You want _me_ to go back to the institution?”

“Mello, don’t act so surprised. You know you’re the only one who can do it. Besides, I’d have thought you’d want to help L, no matter what. Right?”

That is true, except for the fact that Mello has a score of reservations about returning to Wammy’s House. …Although, he thinks, it _has_ been six years, perhaps he isn’t as resentful now of the place as he had once been. (And, if he is being completely honest with himself? Worse things have happened since he’d left.) Besides, Near isn’t wrong - maybe, maybe Mello’s horror and hatred for what has happened to L outweighs whatever sour feelings he still has towards the place.

Even if they don’t, he would have to tell himself they did. He swallows. “…Yeah. All right. I’ll - I’ll do it.”

\-------

Mello ends up having to tell himself as much a number of times throughout the day, as he watches Near make a series of phone calls. Trivial as it is, Mello can’t deny that returning to the institution may deal a pretty nasty bruise to his pride - even if he is welcomed back with something not unlike open arms and hot chocolate. _Especially_ if he is welcomed back with something not unlike open arms and hot chocolate. Though he doubts that situation will ever come to pass, Roger has always been too much of a softie, so Mello can’t put it past him. But Mello isn’t the prodigal son. He is doing this for L’s sake. That he will be returning to Wammy’s House is merely incidental. This isn’t about him.

Between thoughts of hostages and hospitals and hot chocolate, something else has started weighing on Mello’s mind. Or, really, some _one_ else. Until now, Mello hasn’t given Sayu Yagami a moment’s thought. But now that he _is_ thinking about her, he realises that her situation may not be unlike L’s. And that realisation is… well, Mello has to tell himself that him holding her hostage is nothing like Kira holding L hostage. He decides to believe it. Besides, she doesn’t deserve his sympathy. She is one of Kira’s relatives. He’s not going to pay her a visit. He’s not going to apologise. 

It is past one o’clock by the time Rester comes to meet them outside L’s room, a Shimamura shopping bag dangling from his hand. Taking the bag, Near tells Mello to go and make arrangements for L’s release, then enters L’s room alone. Only after Near has returned does Mello learn that he’s explained the plan to L. It bothers Mello that he hadn’t been there as well - in part because _he_ is the one who will accompany L to Wammy’s House, not Near - and he does not hesitate to make that known. But Near explains, coolly, that he had gone in alone in order to make sure that only the absolutely necessary details could be made clear to L. Mello asks exactly what Near means by that, and Near outlines said details: That L will leave the hospital for Wammy’s House that afternoon, with Mello joining him. 

What isn’t necessary, Near says, is for L to know that Mello is concerned he’s become attached to Kira. Mello bristles at that. In his mind, though, Mello agrees that had he gone in, he probably would not have been as matter-of-fact about the arrangements as Near.

“Anyway,” Mello says, “what does he think?”

“Well, it’s obvious that he personally doesn’t see any use in going to the orphanage, but I’ve made it clear to him that he won’t be able to return to his work until he does.”

“Then he’s still acting as if everything’s fine.”

Near looks to the side. “In any case, I told him I’d already made all the logistical arrangements beforehand, so he knows we’re serious about this.”

Mello asks how L had reacted to learning that Mello will be joining him, and Near gives a small smile. “Would you believe it, I didn’t even have to tell him. He’d already worked it out for himself by the time I finished explaining everything else.”

The hospital releases L around two o’clock. The first thing Mello thinks upon seeing L outside the building is that the clothes Rester bought him do a much better job of covering his body than the hospital pyjamas had. It has been years since Mello has last seen L walk. But Mello focuses on the fact that it has been even longer than six years since he has last walked with L. Never mind that where they’re walking to, is Rester’s car. In the hurry to get L out of the hospital, there had been no time to pack, of course. But L doesn’t have anything to pack. And, compared to everything else, packing had been too trivial a matter for Mello to give it much thought. 

So once they have arrived at the airport, neither of them have any luggage to load onto the private jet. Among other things, Near says there will be clothes and toiletries waiting for them at Wammy’s House. And then he says see you soon, and Rester gives a firm farewell nod, and then Mello and L are ascending to the skies. 

The flight takes twelve hours, nine through which Mello sleeps, though not consecutively. The first time he wakes up, it is because L has been prodding at his shoulder and telling him that the steward is serving dinner. A plate of rice and curry is placed before Mello. Several minutes afterward, it is empty. Embarrassed at how fast he’d eaten, Mello glances over at L, who is only a quarter of the way through his meal. And is staring back at Mello with a look Mello can only describe as amused. Mello doesn’t bother justifying himself, just relieved to see some actual emotion in L’s face after having not seen anything but blankness so far, after having not seen anything at all over the six years prior. 

Once they have disembarked, a chauffeur collects them and drives them an hour north. Mello and L step out, and whilst the dry pavement suggests it hasn’t been snowing, it feels as if it might have been. Mello draws together the collar of his jacket, and L pushes his hands into his pockets, and together they begin walking the long, off-road walk to Wammy’s House.

\-------

It is late evening by the time they arrive. Wammy’s House stands before them and seems a little less enormous than Mello had remembered. Mello hasn’t missed so much as an inch of it, not the sharp spokes of its fence, nor its drawn-out spires poking through the invisible line dividing air and sky. The institution stands there as it has for years, just as it had the day Mello freed himself from it.

But being able to come and stay here means freedom for L. Mello quietens his pride and pretends he does not feel uneasy as he presses the buzzer button on the gate. 

“It’s us. We’re here,” he says. Moments later, the gate parts.

Half-flattened daisies and lamb’s ears draw by their feet as they cross the footpath towards the door. The handle refuses to lower, however, forcing Mello to knock. 

And so they wait. “How long has it been since the last time you were here?” Mello asks L.

L rubs his lip. “My last visit would have been on Christmas Day, 2006. Do you remember?”

“Yeah.” It is quite difficult to lose a memory so vivid as Watari and L arriving at the doorstep dressed up as a snow-covered Santa Claus and an elf, respectively. It had been on that day, Mello realises, that he’d last spoken to L before being told L had died. They’d shared the twenty inch by twenty inch box of milk chocolates Mello had received for Christmas that day. And what L had said then echoes in his head even now - has, in fact, never stopped echoing in his head. A promise. That he would catch Kira before the next Christmas. But neither L nor Mello had been there the next year. 

The door opens then and there stands Roger. Upon seeing them his eyes start to look wet, and Mello has to look away. “It is you,” Roger says, his voice so soft it wouldn’t have been heard by anyone aside from them, not that the words would mean anything to anyone else but them. 

The corners of L’s lips raise as he says it has been a while, Roger, and Mello feels obliged to say something as well, so he follows L with a “Yeah”. 

“Well, come inside. It’s so cold out there, so we’ve lit all our fireplaces tonight. Now, let’s see if we can’t make you two comfortable…”

Ushering them indoors, Roger closes the door behind them. L pulls his feet out of the sneakers he hasn’t been wearing properly and places them next to the hat stand, and they follow Roger along the hallway and up the main staircase. The faint sounds of chatter and giggles sing through the building, quieting only when Roger brings them into his office and shuts the door. 

Mello swallows and tells himself not to think about what had happened the last time he had been here. He focuses on L, who was not here last time, who is here now, who is why Mello is here again, who is sitting down by the small fireplace and holding open his palms a distance from the fire. 

“I can’t quite believe it,” Roger says. Judging by his lack of footfalls, Mello assumes he is still standing by the door and likely taking in the sight of them in his office, glowing by the light of the fire. And then there are footfalls, and, picking up a book from the cushion and setting it aside, Roger eases into his armchair. Mello stands around, not knowing where to sit or if he should - and then L tilts up his head to look at him, and he at least sounds sincere as he invites Mello to sit down on the floor next to him. And though it is the floor, there Mello sits. So it is now that all three of them are seated around the fire, Roger in his chair, Mello next to L, and L with his legs folded up close against his body. 

Hands in his lap, Roger shakes his head. “Although I’d hoped I was wrong, I thought I’d never see the two of you here again.” Once more Mello has to look away. 

“Likewise,” L says. “Until recently, I’d believed ever returning here was impossible. Thank you for having us, Roger.”

Roger smiles. “You don’t have to thank me, L. We’re more than honoured to have you among us once more. The children, especially, will be so pleased to see you again.”

Mello raises an eyebrow. “Roger,” he says, “you didn’t tell them…?”

Roger’s shoulders straighten. “Tell them…? You mean, that we believed L was dead?” He shakes his head again. “No, I only ever told you and Near.”

“If I died,” L adds, “only Roger and the potential successors would be informed. There’s no reason for the entire orphanage to know.”

“…I guess that makes sense,” Mello says to him.

“Anyway,” Roger continues, “I’ve given you both a room in the North Wing. Near mentioned it would be wise for you two to share a room, so I hope you won’t mind doing that.”

Mello notices that has prompted L to stare at him. “That’s fine. That’s just what I expected, anyway,” Mello says. 

“L?”

L nods, and Mello suddenly wonders if L knows that they are worried, and why. Mello guesses it would have been obvious to anyone. Nothing else explains the way they are now treating L. 

“So I’d hoped.” Roger gives another, fainter smile. “Now, both of you can stay here as long as you like, and are free to do as you wish. During the day, the children will have classes, of course. You’re more than welcome to join in on any class you like. Except perhaps not the examinations.” Roger chuckles to himself. “Otherwise, the entire campus is your oyster, and perhaps a little of the world outside as well. Let me know if you ever want to go out somewhere, and I’ll have it arranged. We are, really, so very glad to have the two of you with us again.”

Whether or not smiles are contagious, Mello does not know - but when he hears L thank Roger for his hospitality, and sees him try a smile, Mello feels something similar start to form on his own lips. Moments later, he is thanking Roger as well. 

The room Roger has readied them is at the end of a long corridor on the top floor in the North Wing. Due to housing only two single beds, it is but a cupboard compared to the dormitory in which Mello had stayed when he’d lived here. And whilst their bedroom regretfully lacks a fireplace, there are oil heaters along the wall and they fill the room with something like comfortable warmth, though it could be warmer. At least Mello and L will be, once they climb into their beds. Except Mello knows he isn’t at all tired, and probably won’t be for some time to come. All the same, Mello guesses that whether L is tired or not, he probably won’t head off to bed either.

Mello sits down at the edge of the bed that L didn’t claim, the one that is closer to the door than to the window. “Is there anything you want to do?” he asks L. 

L turns from the window to Mello, his eyes a little pale. “Right now?” he says.

Shrugging, Mello replies, “I don’t see why not. Roger said we have free reign over this place. I don’t know about you, but I’m not tired at all, and aside from sleeping, there’s not a lot we can do here in this room.”

L nods and looks thoughtful. “No, I’m not tired either. I suppose I wouldn’t mind going for a walk. It has been some time since I was last here, after all.”

And that sounds quite all right to Mello, so out they head. Once they leave their bedroom, and have begun making their way back into the great heart of the building, L says, “You know, my very first room here was in the North Wing. Wammy never put me in a dormitory. I didn’t get along with the other children at all. I wonder who has my room now.”

“I was in a dormitory,” Mello says, “in the East Wing. My bed was right next to-” And then he isn’t walking, because it suddenly hits him. It hits him that with L here and breathing beside him, he has been thinking only about those who are still alive, as opposed to those who aren’t. And it’s not only that - he has been thinking this way for a while now. “-Right next to Matt’s.” Mello stares at his feet. “…You know, when he first came here, he stayed up all night playing games on his DS. The light drove me insane. I kept hoping he’d turn off his game and just go to sleep, but… you know, I think that was why I was yelling at him, the first time we ever spoke to each other.”

L lets silence drift past them before saying, “Is that so? I can’t imagine you and him not getting along.” He pauses again. “But yes, he was always fond of video-games. As far as I know, there haven’t been any other children like that here. I remember how ecstatic he was that Christmas morning, when he unwrapped the computer he’d been given. I am sorry to hear we lost him.”

Mello doesn’t say anything. But the hallway is filled with a languid rustling as L drags his feet along, walking with Mello now that Mello has started moving again.

“Near mentioned that you were living with Matt in Japan up until he passed. You must miss him very much.”

Mello’s brow furrows and he hasn’t stopped staring at the floorboards over which he passes. “There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s just something that happened. I have to get over it.”

“It’s perfectly understandable if you don’t, or if it takes you a while to. Losing someone you care about can be very difficult.”

And as if Mello has been prodded, the words come out of his lips, “Is that how you feel about Kira?” Silence immediately distances them and Mello thinks that Near had been wise not to bring Mello along into L’s hospital room earlier. L is no longer making that shuffling sound with his feet. L has stopped walking altogether and is staring straight at Mello. And Mello is staring straight back at him. 

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

Somehow Mello knows L is lying when he says that. L has already worked out what Mello means, and probably why they are here now, and isn’t saying anything in spite of that. And that makes Mello’s stomach shrivel, because it proves he was right. He has been right all along. It is not a ‘baseless conclusion’, as Near had cautioned against. It is true. It is as true as the formulas that had been branded into Mello’s head in this very institution, as true as the fact that when the sun rises, the world becomes a little less dark. It is so completely true, all of it. It burns. 

Mello’s face twists. “You’re still going to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about? Like there’s nothing wrong?” That they are standing in the middle of the hallway is not lost on him, clearly - as he grabs L’s wrist and says, “Come on, we’re going outside.”

Never mind that it is colder outside than it had been in the hallway, for at least there’s no chance of anyone overhearing them here. They are a ways off from the building when Mello starts to speak again. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like everything’s fine. I know it’s not. We all know it’s not. You know I want to help you. The least you could do is be honest about it.”

Touching the wrist Mello had pulled, the left wrist, L stares into the open palm of his hand and his shoulders fall a little. 

“I’m not stupid, L. You think I haven’t noticed? I know what’s going on. You don’t have to keep hiding it.”

“It’s interesting,” L says. “Unlike you, Near hadn’t said anything, and yet it was obvious even then what he was trying to avoid saying.” 

“There’s no way you wouldn’t have worked out why we took you here,” Mello says. “Nor why I’m here now, with you. L.” He grabs L by the shoulders and doesn’t mean to shake him but is for some reason shaking him anyway. “I’m here. Kira’s not. Kira’s gone. It’s over.”

“Don’t touch me.” L stares at the ground. 

Mello takes back his hands.

Slowly, L says, “…Mello, honestly, you have no reason to worry for my sake. I will be fine.” 

_Will be_ is not the same as _am_. “Don’t talk like that. You can’t say with certainty what will or won’t happen in the future. All we can know is what’s happening now, and we all know that. Everyone. Even Near. Even Roger. It’s not just me.”

“I know.”

Mello takes a pause. “Then why won’t you acknowledge it?’

L turns his head. “You know, perhaps we should continue walking. Otherwise we might catch a chill.”

They walk. It is silent, save for the sound of plates and laughter clattering on the east side of the building. They pass footpaths covered with crude chalk sketches. L steps around them and Mello doesn’t. As they walk, it lingers in Mello’s mind that whilst they are in possession of so much time and space, these luxuries are meaningless unless used. Mello falls behind L as they walk and wonders when if ever L will ever start _talking_.

…Mello hates knowing there’s a possibility that L never will, and so he decides to broach this from another angle. “L,” he says, coming up behind him, “you think all this is meaningless, don’t you? Be honest. You don’t care about any of this, about being here, about me being here with you. All you’re interested in is getting back to being a detective and solving cases. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes. But while I can understand why you and Near wanted me to come here, personally I don’t think it is necessary.”

“But before,” Mello points out, “you said you ‘will be’ fine, which tells me that right now, you yourself know that you aren’t. So you’re obviously in no state to return to work. But,” he adds, “Near and I want you to get back to work. We know that’s what you want. But before you do that, you’ve got to get over Kira. And that’s the reason why you’re here.”

L’s stare doesn’t meet Mello’s. “I understand, but… it is as you said. Light is now gone. Whatever may linger from the years I spent with him will naturally fade in time. I have no doubt that it will. Taking me here was an effort you didn’t have to make.”

“No. You’re wrong. We had to,” replies Mello, “because it’s not just about you getting over how you’ve learned to… feel for Kira.” L’s face is blank. “Kira left you alone in that cell for six years. If you were to go straight back to work, you’d end up being just as alone. That isn’t right.”

“Mello.” It isn’t the small smile slowly gracing L’s lips that hurts, but what L says. “I will not disappear, you know.”

For all that Mello wants to respond that L already had, the words are bitter and mostly meaningless because the past is only an afterimage - all that exists, all that matters, is the present, and in the present L is alive, and in the past they had all believed he wasn’t, which is the same as not being, the very same as disappearing. 

Mello thinks to ask if L ever felt he had been disappearing. But then he wonders if perhaps L had felt it was the world around him that had been disappearing, and that answers his question for him.

Mello’s brow creases, though not in anger nor frustration. “Neither will I,” he says. 

 

Returning indoors, Mello hears a clapping sort of laughter in the recreational room, and L suggests they go and find out what the children in there are doing. And what the children are doing, is playing what looks to be a hybrid between Clue and Guess Who? and Monopoly and Blind Man’s Bluff and a fifteen hundred piece jigsaw puzzle. L, having caught their attention by standing there in the doorway, asks if he and Mello can join in. Mello wonders if this is L’s way of distracting himself from everything else, or if he really is curious to learn exactly how this sprawling game is played. Whatever the reason, he decides that playing might not be a bad idea, and so he plays along. The game is strange and wonderful and easy to get into - and when it finishes, they start another round. And so on it goes until one of the matrons comes by, warning the children they have five minutes left before curfew. Mello and L help them pack up, then, everything except the jigsaw puzzle, which is only half-finished. Once the children have left for bed, Mello and L sit on opposite sides of the low table and complete the jigsaw puzzle together.

\-------

The sun is low in the sky when Mello awakens. Gradually, it comes to his attention that he’d fallen asleep in an armchair, which explains very well why his neck aches. It seems to him that he has been sleeping in a lot of chairs recently. Since even before falling asleep in the hospital, in fact. For after Matt had died and left the other half of their bed empty, Mello had forced himself to get used to sleeping on the apartment sofa.

He stretches out his limbs and a muscle in his neck pulls. Rubbing at his nape, he sits up properly, and as his eyes adjust to take in his surroundings, so too they take in the sight of L crouching in the corner of the sofa beside him. L’s face is angled down into a thick book. Mello wonders for how L has been sitting there, and then wonders if L had ever left the recreational room, or if L had remained by Mello’s side even as he slept. Feeling a dry crust of drool, he wipes at the corner of his lips with the back of his hand. 

“So you’re awake. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone sleep so heavily,” L comments, not looking up from his book.

Mello stifles a yawn. “When did I fall asleep?”

“Not too long after we’d finished our third jigsaw puzzle.” L turns a page and folds a crease into the spine. Mello can recall putting together and pulling apart a myriad of images, but until now had assumed that it had only been a dream. “Do you remember? You sat down in the armchair and fell asleep almost straight away. Though perhaps you don’t remember actually falling asleep.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I do.” Hands clasped inside-out in front of him, Mello cracks his knuckles. “What are you reading?”

“A fantasy novel I found lying beneath a cushion. I’ve read it before.” L rests the book aside, thumb tucked in-between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. “I was going to go looking for a copy of the newspaper, but I thought I should wait for you to wake first, in case one of the more creative children came by and decided to use your sleeping face as a canvas.”

That last detail is oddly specific, and Mello suspects L has only made mention of it so as to justify his decision not to leave the room alone. He doesn’t make a point of it. “You say that like it’s happened before,” he says instead.

“That’s because it has,” L replies, drolly. “We had that problem with Linda a number of years ago. As promising an artist as she was, for a while she’d paint her pictures all over any surface she could find, faces included.”

Linda, Mello thinks, is now his age and, unlike him, would have graduated from Wammy’s House only recently. “Then I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s gone on to work in body painting or something like that,” he quips.

L laughs. They talk for a little while longer, until Mello decides that he can do without the aches in his limbs and stands up, stretching until they are less sore. Clambering to his feet as well, L expresses interest in finding a newspaper again, and Mello finds himself tagging along, not saying anything. Knowing Roger, whatever newspaper is laying about Wammy’s House won’t express a bias towards Kira, ideally won’t so much as mention Kira at all, so Mello reasons it should be fine for L to read one. But it soon becomes apparent that neither of them are going to _find_ one. It’s possible that Near and Roger conspired to keep newspapers out of L’s reach for the time being, a decision which, if true, Mello completely agrees with. 

What they do find is a copy of the student paper, and though it is not what L had wanted to read, he takes a little interest and then a copy. And then he points out to Mello that neither of them have eaten since their inflight meal on the private jet. Though it is half past five and therefore mealtime at Wammy’s House, L doesn’t lead Mello to the dining hall. Instead, they wind up in the staff kitchen, where Mello suspects neither of them should be. 

“You forget,” L says, placing the student paper on the table before opening the fridge door, “that Roger has allowed us to go anywhere we please.”

Mello puzzles. “Yeah, but… you know, if we went to the dining hall, they’d give us a proper meal. Dessert included.” And would be in the company of the children. Based on what Mello has seen the night before, L gets along quite well with them. Maybe spending more time in their company will hasten his recuperation.

“Yes, but I doubt the staff would let me just have dessert,” L explains, and moments later has returned from the fridge with a cling-wrapped plate of shortcake, which he sets onto the bench before rummaging around for a fork. By the time he has found one and washed it, Mello has found a stash of candy hidden on the topmost shelf of the cupboard. Drawing out a block of chocolate, he strips back the foil and brings it to his lips. 

L peels back the layer of cling-wrap and bundles it in his hand, eyeing Mello. “I didn’t realise you liked dark chocolate. I thought you preferred-”

Mello snaps off two pieces with his teeth and swallows. “No. I’m over milk chocolate.”

He is about to break off another piece and maybe even offer one to L - though he doesn’t expect L to accept it, since this particular kind of chocolate is not only dark but salted as well - except L has already taken a bite of his shortcake. And isn’t taking any more. And isn’t even talking. And is just staring at the shortcake as though it is not shortcake that he sees. 

His eyes are glazed and Mello’s stomach twists. The taste of chocolate in Mello’s mouth is suddenly a little too thick, but he ignores it, he ignores it as he seizes the fork and plate from L’s hand and, foot on the trashcan lever, scrapes the cake into the bin. Mello scrapes the plate as though he’s sharpening a knife. Crumbling chunks of shortcake and thick wads of cream slide under the fork and drop into the bin. Mello scrapes until there is as little sugar left on the plate as there is around L’s lips. He is sure now that L knows why he’s doing this, so he does not say anything. He dumps the dirty plate and fork into the sink and stares at L, who isn’t staring at anything in particular. 

When L speaks, all he says is, “That is a terrible waste of food.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” The features of Mello’s face are pulled tight together.

L’s face, by contrast, is blank as death. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mello’s frown stretches. “You know why I did.”

“Am I not even allowed to eat shortcake now?”

“No,” Mello bites out. “Not if it reminds you of _him_. If you want to eat something sweet, you’ll have to find some other dessert, something he never gave you.”

L’s expression doesn’t change, but Mello feels like he’s being glared at. “Mello, I told you not to worry about me. Let me do what I want.”

And Mello just says, “I can’t.” He makes a noise of frustration and grips the side of the counter. In no way can L even know what he wants, not when Kira is still _there_ , still alive even if just in the recesses of L’s mind, tightening his grip around L’s being whenever mentioned. Even though caught and dead and _gone_ , Kira still has L in his grasp. Kira has chained L to the past, leaving him unable to walk towards the future. “You wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d never faked your death.” Even Mello is astonished to hear himself say it. And even more astonished that he cannot stop talking now that he has started. “Why did you do it? How could you let yourself lose to Kira?”

L is quiet. “You’re wrong if you think I’d had any choice.”

“But even if Kira forced you to do it, that means you must have known who Kira was. You could have revealed him and had him arrested, but you just went along.”

“It is much more complicated than that.”

“Then tell me,” Mello pleads. “Tell me. Get it out of your system and tell me. What happened?”

But whatever the words he wants to hear are, they find no form. L simply gives a sad smile and says none of it matters now anyway. And Mello listens to that, Mello really does listen, and though he knows there really isn’t anything he can do beyond listening, he aches with the want to do _something_ to help, anything, really anything. Mello listens even when there are no words to listen to, and then he sinks to the floor. He sits there and sighs, and covers his face with his hand. As long as L stays like this, there is nothing he can do to help, but unless he does help, L will likely go on like this. Blank, and passive, and detached from everything except Kira. 

L joins him on the floor a moment later. “I’m sorry.”

It makes Mello start to shake, softly, as though he is about to dissolve into a million granules of sand. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. His voice catches and he takes a breath, following it with, “You have nothing to be sorry about. I should be the one apologising to you.”

L pauses as though in thought. “No, you have even less reason to do that,” he says, finally, and Mello feels cold fingers brush against his forehead. Removing his own hand, he stares at L’s, which is taking his strands of hair from his face. 

Mello blinks rapidly. “I wish I could just make you forget about Kira, about all of it,” he sighs, “but I can’t. I don’t want you to be here. I want you to be back at work, solving cases. I want you to be-” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t finish that sentence.

“Mello.” L sounds serious and Mello turns his head properly to face him. “I mean it when I say I will get over this in my own time. You underestimate the strength of my resolve.”

Mello frowns and shakes his head. “I know you _will_ , but…” The sigh he interrupts himself with is a mostly silent one. “I just wish that it could happen now.”

“The human mind is not changed in the wink of an eye. It can take months, possibly years, even. But given the right amount of inner strength, it will happen. In fact, for all that my inner strength led me to this situation, it will be my inner strength that sees me out of it.”

Mello’s brow furrows. “How do you mean?”

L blinks. “Captor-hostage attachment,” he explains, “is the natural result of the hostage’s drive to live. The hostage clings to what will keep them alive - that is, their captor. I may not be alive now at all if I had I surrendered my want to live.”

Mello stares at the bottom corner of the bench. “…So you know what’s going on,” he says. “You know how you feel towards Kira.”

“Yes.” The reply is plain and Mello wonders why L has waited until now to give it. “Yes. I always have.”

“You say that like you’ve accepted it. But I don’t understand. Obviously, you know it’s a problem, so why haven’t you gotten over it already?”

“It isn’t that simple. Even if I can understand the reason behind why I may or may not be feeling a certain way, I am not infallible. Whether or not I want them to exist, I can’t necessarily stop my emotions from existing.”

Something begins to beat gently in Mello’s ears, and though Mello has been struggling and failing to understand L’s situation, there is something like empathy blooming in his chest now. His eyes widen slightly as it dawns on him that he is no different to L - for all that L’s situation is so completely and utterly unlike his, he can understand what it feels like to not be able to control how one _feels_. Mello has always been that way, and growing up alongside Near here in Wammy’s House, he had taught himself that the capacity to feel makes him inferior. But L feels too, and that’s why L is here, and that’s why Mello is here with him, and Mello blinks and when he whispers, “I understand,” he wants L to know it is nothing but true.

And it’s not that he decides to ask again now because he feels brave enough, but because he can’t help feeling as though L isn’t going to disagree this time. “L, I know you think it’s unnecessary, but if I ask Roger to arrange for you to meet with someone who can give you the proper help, can you at least not turn them away?”

It is a good sign that L pauses, but Mello adds, anyway, “You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. But they could give you advice about what to do from now on, so you can let go of the past sooner than you’d be able to on your own.”

Drawing his legs to his body, L rests his chin on his knees. “That’s really what you want me to do, isn’t it?”

Mello gives a small nod. “We all do. Me, Roger, and Near.”

“All right,” L says. “I won’t turn them away.”

For some reason, Mello’s face has started aching, and then he realises that it’s because he’s smiling. He’s smiling like he cannot do anything but smile, and it feels strange as if he isn’t used to it (and truthfully, he isn’t), but it is a lovely strangeness and he is so very glad to feel it. And then he starts to laugh, because isn’t it the most ridiculous thing that something as ordinary as _smiling_ should feel strange to him? And L gives him a look of absolute puzzlement, which, honestly? Only makes Mello laugh even harder, though he covers his face with his hand so L won’t think he’s laughing at him. Well, in actuality, he _is_ , but not for the reasons L would think. Mello’s shoulders shudder as he thinks about how he can explain his sudden outburst to L, and then in realising that it isn’t something he can explain, he rests his forehead against his hand and just laughs some more.

Eventually, the laughs ease into chuckles, which ease into halted, catching breaths, which finally ease into a long, contented sigh, complete with a smile that, though smaller, Mello can still feel on his face. “I’m not laughing at you,” he reassures L. “I mean it. Seriously, I’m not.”

When he looks to L, L’s eyes are bright and he’s smiling, too. “There’s no need to justify it. I didn’t think you were.”

\-------

Mello informs Roger as soon as he has the chance, and likewise, Roger wastes no time in contacting one of Wammy’s House’s former teachers, apparently now one of England’s most revered psychiatrists. It rains without stop the day she arrives, but once she has gone in to see L, Mello still goes outside and walks aimless laps around the building, looking up every bundle of minutes at the clock overlooking the gardens, in the hopes that the hour will soon have passed.

Though apparently there is only so much rain and cold he can take, and so he returns inside twenty minutes later, thoroughly drenched and soaking the carpet over which he passes as he seeks a fireplace. Finding one in the library, he sits down on the floor in front of it. Within minutes, he is no longer dripping, though he is still somewhat damp. On the shelf not too far from where he sits, he sights a novel he’d read as a child. Drawing it out and opening to the first chapter, he tries to focus only on the world of the book. He fails.

But the clock chimes finally, signalling the end of one watch, the beginning of the next, and that L’s appointment is over. Running back to the room, Mello leans against the wall outside and picks at his fingernails as he waits until he hears the voices on the other side draw nearer. The door opens and stays open and out steps L.

L looks surprised to see him. “…You haven’t been waiting here this whole time, have you?”

Mello snorts. “No, I went for a walk.” He’s not sure if he should ask L how it went, but doesn’t get the chance to anyway. Mentioning he needs the bathroom and will be right back, L heads down the corridor.

Mello decides to ask the psychiatrist instead. 

A minute later, he is back outside the room, feeling a fool for having forgotten about the confidentiality code. 

But the psychiatrist is right. If he really is that concerned, he should probably just ask L himself. Whenever he feels ready to do so, of course.

And after they have walked the psychiatrist to the front door and seen her out, he asks. 

“Honestly, a lot better than I thought it would,” L answers. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Do you think you’ll want to see her again?” Mello stares out at her as she fades into the rain, an umbrella low above her head.

L nods. “I know you won’t let me return to work unless you have confirmation that I am in the right state for it. And I know she’s the only one who you would trust to confirm that.”

“Yeah, that’s… true, but I meant more for your own sake.”

L looks up in thought. “Perhaps. But it’s too early to say now. I might give it a few weeks and think about it then.”

Hearing L say that is an improvement in itself. Mello doesn’t push it.

\-------

Weeks pass, and rain falls. Sometimes, rain turns to snow overnight, and Mello wakes to find it caked along the windowsills on the outside of the building. Only when it snows do they go outside, so when it is only raining, they stay indoors. The weeks are punctuated by the sound of L playing the piano, sometimes late at night, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, and almost always the same song. Mello always sits with him when he plays - then again, Mello rarely leaves his side. Together, they listen in on classes; together, they eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the dining hall; together they read fantasy epics to the children - Mello loves putting on different voices for all the characters, and L, with that baritone voice of his, makes an excellent narrator. Whilst true that Mello doesn’t want to leave L’s side, he’s always there because L always wants him there, is always the one encouraging Mello to join in. The only time L isn’t saying anything are the times L sits at the piano, playing the same song, absorbed in his own world. Mello wonders what that world looks like, now that they’re here, now that they’ve spent over a month and a half here.

Near, too, must wonder, because he calls sometimes, talking to L first, and then Mello.

Eventually, Roger’s calendar starts reading _March_ instead of _February_. Still there is rain, but there are flowers as well, curling up out of the cracks in the footpath. Birds perch on the fences and sing, and L continues playing the piano, always that same song. The song plays in Mello’s head even when L isn’t playing. One day, though he doubts it, he wonders if his viola is still in the music room, and so he goes to check. 

There are some things he shouldn’t doubt. The viola is where he left it, in the case on which his younger self had written his name. He tunes it and sets it beside the piano in the recreation room. The next time L plays, Mello joins in. By now he’s heard the song enough times to know the notes by heart. Children start to gather around them. They clap once the song draws to a finish, and Mello thinks he has never seen L look so shy. A moment later L smiles at Mello and says he has never heard Mello play the viola before. Warmth rises to Mello’s face as he says he hasn’t practiced for years, and smiles.

\-------

The psychiatrist returns mid-morning on the tenth of April. After she leaves, L shows Mello a flier she had given him, which seems to be for an art exhibition.

“Mello, come with me,” L says. “I’m sure Roger won’t mind us stepping out for a while.”

Mello cannot remember having ever visited a gallery before, let alone ever taking an interest in art, but he does not miss the excitement lighting up L’s eyes. “Sure, if you want,” he replies, and then wondering if the response had sounded too indifferent, adds, “I’d be happy to.”

Roger gives them permission to head out that very afternoon, as well as a sum of pounds for bus fare and gallery admission and lunch. Thanking Roger, L leads Mello outside and through the gates, and they walk to the bus stop half a mile away. 

“I didn’t know you were into art exhibitions,” Mello says, tucking one of his hands into his pockets as they walk.

“I’ve been to many. Although England by far has the best ones.” L takes the flier from his pocket and unfolds it. “I’ve always been interested in seeing Egon Schiele’s artwork in person. I’ve only ever seen photographs.”

Taking the flier from L, Mello reads it properly. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Is that so? Maybe you’re more familiar with his mentor, Gustav Klimt.”

Mello shakes his head. “I only know the famous ones. Art’s honestly never been my thing. But,” he quickly adds, not wanting to spoil anything, “thanks for asking me come with you. I’ve never actually been to an art exhibition before.” 

Surprise causes L to give a smile. “Then this will be a fine one to start with. You never know, you may end up enjoying it as much as I will.”

The gallery, Mello soon learns, is spacious and simultaneously labyrinthine, and Mello is admittedly uncertain about how to navigate through it. So he follows after L, who reads all the captions and gazes at each gangly portrait as if gazing out a window. Head tilting, thumb running over his lip, and eyes alight with curiosity, L sits on the ottoman at the centre of each gallery room and gazes. The way L sits draws glances from those passing by, who in turn draw glares from Mello.

After a while, Mello’s legs and feet start to feel sore. He remembers the bar of chocolate he’d slipped into his jacket pocket, and takes it out. He has just started to peel back the foil when a security guard towers over him and tells him to put it away. Now he’s the one being glanced at. That is, by everyone except L. L is still staring at the portraits. 

Later, when they step out of the last room and into the general gallery, L asks Mello what he thought. 

“That was interesting,” Mello answers. “Is it just me, or did he mostly paint self-portraits?”

“No, you’re right. Self-portraits are what Schiele is best known for. Did you like any piece in particular?”

Mello considers. “There was one,” he answers, “where the subject’s wearing a bright orange jacket, but I forget the name. What about you?”

“I liked all the self-portraits. But if I had to choose one, I would say…” L smooths his thumb over his bottom lip. “ _Prediger_.”

Mello nods, though he isn’t sure which painting that was. 

“If you can’t remember it,” L says, knowing amusement in his eyes, “there might be an artbook in the gift shop. I can show it to you there.”

In any case, they end up at the cafeteria first. L has spied a tray of scones in the cake window, and scones don’t strike Mello as the kind of dessert Kira would have ever given L. “If you want to go get a table,” he says, half-turning to L, “I’ll line up and order one.”

After the cashier gives him a table number, Mello looks around for L, and, finding him, notices at once how different he looks to the L that had been sitting in the chair of his hospital room.

Mello comes to sit opposite L. “You know,” he says, “I can’t help but wondering - what was going through your head that day? When Near found you and had you taken to the hospital, I mean.”

L looks thoughtful. “Honestly, I was amazed by how bright the outside world was. There were lights in the cell of course, but they were quite dim.”

“You must have been surprised to see Near and the others.” 

L draws three sugar packets from the cup on the table and arranges them into a triangle. “Seeing them then made me realise Kira would never come back, which was a thought I really didn’t like at the time.” 

“…And what about now?”

“Now, I’m proud, if not slightly envious. I realise you and Near managed to succeed where I couldn’t.”

Shortly afterwards, the waiter sets the scone and a set of cutlery in front of L. Mello takes the chocolate from his pocket. L slathers the scone with jam and cream and crams it into his mouth, then licks his fingers. Mello breaks off a piece of chocolate. A moment later, he breaks off another. 

 

The art gallery is laid out as such that they have to exit through the gift-shop, so L takes the opportunity to point out the painting to Mello. And then Mello says that if L likes the painting so much, they may as well buy the artbook.

\-------

The psychiatrist visits once more towards the end of the month. Once she leaves for what Mello learns is the very last time, Mello rushes to tell Roger, and Roger calls Near. But it’s obvious that, of all of them, L is the most relieved. After all, L has many, many reasons to be.

On their second-last day, Mello finds himself wandering around campus. He’s started to think about his apartment back in Tokyo - more specifically, about selling it. L is going to return to work and Mello wonders how long it will take to get used to living alone again. But he recalls that Matt spent a lot of money on the apartment. Maybe he can sell it for just as much, if not more, and spend the money on something that will distract him. He has the freedom to go and do just about anything he wishes, now that it’s over.

…At least, he thinks it’s over. For some reason, he feels that conclusion is quite wrong. As if it’s missing something. And it doesn’t take him very long to realise why. He calls Near the moment he is back inside, and gets a copy of her address. It has to be done. 

Roger and the staff and the children throw them a party on their last night. There is music and tears and too many slices to count of a cake called mille-feuille. Mouth half-full, L explains to Mello over his third serving that he hasn’t eaten mille-feuille for far too many years. Mello gives a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes and knows why the hot chocolate he drinks tastes unusually bitter. 

Hushing the sticky-handed children, Roger then gives a speech. L follows and talks for a little longer. More styrofoam cups of hot chocolate empty and more paper plates fall into the bin, and by eleven o’clock, the staff are sweeping the children off to their dormitories, warning them to brush their teeth, lest they develop cavities. And, soon enough, only Roger, L, and Mello are left in the auditorium. Mello offers a hand gathering fallen forks and folding up trestle tables, as does L, because going to bed would mean that tomorrow would come much too soon.

Once the auditorium is tidy, they do head off to their room, but don’t go to sleep straight away. They sit on their beds and they talk until Mello is too tired to continue talking.

The next morning, Mello wakes to find that L is not in the room with him. And then he glances out the window and sees L walking around outside. Mello showers and packs up his clothes, and when L returns to the bedroom half an hour later, he does the same. It is ten o’clock when the gates are opening before them and they’re stepping through and beyond.

 

After arriving in Japan, L offers to share a cab. Mello accepts, but doesn’t ask the driver to drop him at his apartment. 

Instead, for him the cab stops outside the clinic. Mello says goodbye to L, and takes a sharp breath through his nose, heading inside to see Sayu Yagami.

\-------

Two days later, Mello is packing Matt’s video-game console into a box, when he hears the apartment buzzer.

And pausing, hands still on the controllers half-lowered into the box, he wonders if it’s another prospective buyer come to look around. Thankfully the apartment is much cleaner now that it had been yesterday, Mello thinks, as he goes to the buzzer.

“Mello, it’s me.” His eyes widen. Lidner. He presses the other button and within minutes she is at his doorstep.

“Well,” she says, smiling, “this is familiar, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” Mello replies, a little amusement in his voice too. He offers to take her coat and is about to offer her a drink, except she says she won’t stay long. And, for that matter, that neither will he. 

Mello puzzles. “What is it this time? …Is it Near again?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Just… come with me. Whatever you’re doing can wait. It shouldn’t take too long anyway.” She’s still smiling.

“Let me guess,” Mello says, “you’re going to do exactly what you did last time and not tell me now, even if I ask.”

At that, her face lights up and a sharp, sweet laugh escapes her lips. “Bingo,” she says, and then, “come on, let’s go.” 

“Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see,” is all she says, as she watches him lock his door. Soon enough they’re in her car again, and this time they aren’t heading towards the hospital.

Mello suspects he’s not going to get a complete answer from her no matter what he asks. He resolves to pull out a chocolate bar from his jacket pocket. He gestures it towards her. “Do you want a piece?”

Glancing at the wrapper for only a second, she says, “Is that dark? No thanks. You have it.”

He’s snapped through two rows of the bar by the time she is slipping the car into an underground parking complex. Once parked, she locks the doors with the remote control and Mello breaks off another piece of chocolate with his fingers. Then they’re in an elevator and ascending to the tenth floor. 

The doors part to reveal a corridor lined with wallpaper, scarlet carpets and side-tables balancing flowers in vases. From what Mello can tell, they’re in a fancy hotel, though he can’t tell why. But he doesn’t ask why, knowing he’s only going to be met with that same half-sly smile and possibly a lips-sealed gesture.

Lidner chooses a door and knocks on it, saying, “I’ve brought him.” From the other side comes the sound of a latch unlocking. Lidner pulls down the handle. 

And there on the other side are Near and L.

Roger appears in the picture a moment later, setting a plate of what looks to be scones on the coffee table. 

“Mello, please come and sit down,” L says, and so Mello does, taking a seat on the sofa opposite Near and next to L’s armchair. “Lidner,” L says, looking back up at the doorway to where she hovers, “you’re more than welcome to stay too, if you like.”

“We have coffee,” Near adds, his arm extended to fly a toy plane over his head. “I’m sure Roger would be happy to pour you a cup, if you ask politely.”

Roger laughs. Shrugging mostly to herself, Lidner joins them a moment later, sitting down in the space beside Mello. 

Mello has to ask. “What’s going on?”

Turning to face Mello, L says, “Yes, let’s forgo the small talk for now and get right into it. Mello, Near and I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Mello raises an eyebrow, hardly noticing the mug of hot chocolate Roger places in front of him.

“Of course, you already know I’m in the process of returning to work,” L explains. “Near has offered me the cases he’s been working on in my absence, as well as one or two new ones the ICPO has requested ‘L’ to solve. However, I want you and Near to work on these cases alongside me.”

“…You want me to-” Mello glances at Near and then turns back to L. “-But, I thought you preferred to work on your own.”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I just can’t dismiss the fact that it would probably be more efficient to have more than one mind working on each case at a time. The closing of the Kira case proved as much to me.”

“The way it would work is,” Near added, “all three of us together will make up ‘L’, though of course we’ll lead the rest of the world to think that ‘L’ is still one person.”

Mello stares at L. “You want me to work with you,” he repeats. “And with Near.”

“Yes,” L says, coolly. Coolly, as though it isn’t one of the greatest honours Mello has ever been presented. “You particularly.” At the sight of Mello’s puzzlement, L explains, “Your mind takes a logical and emotional approach to problems, which I have come to learn may actually be more beneficial at times than logicality alone.”

“…You mean, you want me to work with you _because_ I get emotional?” Mello suddenly glances to Near, then back to L. 

“Yes. Nuance is important,” L continues, “and Near and I tend towards using logic alone to solve cases. You, however, do not. Only when we combine our strengths will ‘L’ truly become the greatest detective in the world.” L brings a scone to his lips, and then pauses, crumbs falling inches away from his mouth. “Besides, I enjoy your company, Mello.” And then he bites into his scone. 

And there is truth, there has always been truth, in what Near and L are saying to him. Mello really _does_ get emotional, because of all things, it is ultimately that last part of what L has said to him that has him convinced. There isn’t a grain of reluctance in his mind. Yes, he says. But he has a correction to make. It’s not just that he’ll join Near and L. It’s that he’ll never leave. 

L sprinkles crumbs all over the tabletop as he begins to outline their cases to Mello. Circling his plane around his head, Near listens. When Mello drains his mug of hot chocolate, Roger is there to refill it, to set a cup of coffee in front of Lidner, to laugh with fondness as they all plot over scones and airplanes and chocolate and the glass table. The moonless night is theirs. Together they follow it, through the parting gates, the sliding doors - through and out, ahead and into, with every intention of living because they are alive.


End file.
